


Ichabod VS Christmas

by Myarna



Category: Sleepy Hollow, Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1255708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myarna/pseuds/Myarna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod Crane battles some of the aspects of 21st century Christmas. Luckily, Abbie's there to help (tease) him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ichabod VS Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhavia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhavia/gifts).



Ichabod looked alarmed, to say the least. Abbie had spent the last half hour wrestling a large Christmas tree into her front room, getting absolutely no help from him whatsoever.  
     “What?” She snapped finally, turning to glare at her irritating friend.  
     “Why on earth did you feel the need to purchase a tree with the knowledge it would die?” Ichabod stood with his hands behind his back, looking at the tree with furrowed eyebrows.  
     “It’s what people do, okay? It’s tradition. Now would you give me a hand?”  
The very moment the words were out of Abbie’s mouth, she felt her foot get caught in something and she fell flat on her back, bringing the tree down on top of her. Pine needles stuck into her and her head was buzzing from the impact with the hard wooden floor, but despite herself, she giggled.  
     “Miss Mills!” Ichabod exclaimed and broke his pose to help heave the tree up. “Are you alright?”  
     “Oh, just peachy.” She sniggered and began brushing the sharp needles off herself.  
     “You uphold the strangest traditions.” Ichabod commented as he let the tree fall against the painted cream wall, positioning it so it rested there comfortably.  
     “Aw, don’t pretend you don’t know Christmas.”  
     “Christmas was celebrated much more modestly in my time.” Ichabod muttered and turned his attention to Abbie.  
He offered his hand, which she pushed away and pulled herself up. Of course she did, she was Abbie Mills, after all.  
     “You wanna be of use?”  
     “Of course.”  
     “Either put the tree in its stand or get these pine needles off of me.” Abbie was still giggling a little, and Ichabod began to think that the knock to the head had affected her in a rather unfortunate way.  
Ichabod decided he wanted to steer clear of the tree, as it seemed like a particularly effective death trap, so he helped Abbie out of her jacket instead. Abbie looked mildly surprised at his choice, but let him take off her jacket and as he draped it over the back of a chair, she began picking the small green spikes out of her hair.  
The sight of Abbie stood in the middle of her front room, surrounded by assorted tree decorations and twisting around trying to get rid of the thousands of small spikes digging into her was very amusing, and Ichabod found himself trying to disguise a smile rather than having any urge to help her.  
     “I think I could learn to like twenty-first century Christmas.” Ichabod mused as he plucked a single needle from Abbie’s shirt sleeve.  
     “Yeah, me too.”

Abbie stood in front of the tree, looking it up and down proudly.  
     “All that’s left is the star.”  
In about an hour, she and Ichabod had managed to completely cover the whole tree in every piece of tinsel and every bauble she owned. Really, it was a total mess of random colours and misplaced decorations, but Abbie liked it, and Ichabod didn’t know enough to object. For all he knew, it was supposed to look like it had been thrown up on.  
     “The star?” Ichabod sounded mildly confused, and Abbie was very tempted to intensify his confusion, but she was too full of Christmas spirit to be that cruel.  
     “Yeah, do you wanna put it on?” Abbie handed him the plastic packet that contained the golden star.  
He looked rather dubious at the thought of the plastic star inside the plastic box. Ichabod’s sempiternal hatred of plastic would always be a source of amusement for Abbie.  
Nevertheless, Ichabod quickly opened and discarded the container, leaving him holding a star that was covered in golden glitter that stuck to his hands.  
He looked at it suspiciously, as if the thing would suddenly come to life and impale him.  
     “Just put it on the tree.” Abbie wanted the tree to be finished so she could just relax and enjoy Christmas with Ichabod.  
     “Where?”  
     “On the very top.” She smiled patiently, suddenly being overcome with pity for him.  
Christmas had always been her favourite time of year when she was a kid, and he quite obviously hadn’t celebrated Christmas as she knew it.  
Ichabod did as he was told and reached up, his shirt riding up his back as he did so. He’d long since abandoned his long, black coat to fare for itself while he and Abbie struggled with various decorations. It had ended up that Abbie had decided to just go with her tank top and jeans, and Ichabod had resorted to rolling up the sleeves on his shirt. Ichabod never knew that decorating for a winter holiday could cause people to become so warm.  
Once the star was positioned, they both stepped back to admire their handiwork in all its glory.  
     “What d’you think, Crane?”  
     “I think that was unnecessary and exhausting. However, it does look rather good. What do you think, Leftenant?”  
     “I think it’s alright for your first attempt.” Abbie smiled a little, enjoying the dismayed expression Ichabod instantly took on when she didn’t praise it completely. “Shut up, I’m kidding. It looks awesome.”  
     “Why did you tell me to shut up? I didn’t say anything.” Ichabod looked genuinely confused again and Abbie just sighed, the guy was probably just tired.  
     “It doesn’t matter. Do you want some hot cocoa?” Abbie picked up all the empty packaging from the pile they’d created and started to carry it out of the room, pausing in the doorway to wait for Ichabod’s answer.  
     “Leftenant,” Ichabod looked up at the top of the doorframe.  
Abbie followed his eyes to see the obligatory sprig of mistletoe that was pinned there.  
     “Of all the Christmas traditions, this is the one you know of?” Abbie scoffed and shook her head. “Do you want cocoa?”  
     “Please.” Ichabod laughed as he watched her go.  
He turned back to look at their tree and felt oddly proud of it. He dismissed the feeling and sat down on Abbie’s couch, letting his eyes slide closed momentarily. Decorating was far more physically demanding than it should have been. That morning, they’d decorated the rest of Abbie’s house before going out to buy the tree. Ichabod decided that modern Christmas, while amusing, was not worth the amount it tired out everyone who partook. However, Abbie had informed him that Christmas was only four days away, therefore they had to do all the decorating in one day.

Abbie cleared her throat loudly when she returned almost ten minutes later, carrying two mugs of cocoa and having changed into pyjama pants and a ridiculous-looking sweater that had a cartoon reindeer sewn on. At least, Ichabod _thought_ it was a reindeer. Its nose was far too red to be considered reindeer-like, the antlers didn’t resemble reindeer antlers at all, and the eyes were far too large.  
     “That looks…interesting.” Ichabod only then realized that he’d been asleep, and did his best to hide that fact from Abbie.  
Abbie placed the two mugs gently down on the glass coffee table in front of them.  
     “Isn’t it awesome? It’s kind of a family tradition. I got you one, too.” Abbie smiled and pulled out a bundle of red and green Ichabod hadn’t noticed she’d been hiding behind her back.  
     “Does that mean you consider me to be family?” Ichabod gingerly took the bundle from her but didn’t open it up to look at the no doubt horrendous pattern on it.  
     “Shut up and put it on.” Abbie blushed a little, but she didn’t think Ichabod noticed. She didn’t usually do the whole ‘adopt friends into the family’ thing, but she was still about 80% sure that Ichabod was the result of a very vivid dream caused by severe food poisoning, so she supposed it didn’t really matter.  
     “Of course, excuse me.” Ichabod grasped the scratchy material tightly and stood up, feeling ever so slightly disorientated. He’d never been very co-ordinated after napping.

When Ichabod still hadn’t returned after a quarter of an hour, Abbie went looking for him. She found him in her guest room, staring at his own reflection in the full-length mirror with his mouth hanging open slightly.  
The whole sweater had red and green stripes as a background. However, it was only when the main design was focussed on did the ridiculousness really become apparent. Smack in the centre, there was a huge knitted image of Santa, with a frankly sickeningly sweet smile, but with all the typical trademarks of Santa. On Ichabod, though, it was the most hilarious thing Abbie had ever seen. She doubled over laughing at the sight.  
     “I think you look fetching,” She coughed out after she was able to stand up straight again.  
     “Who is this gentleman? Why does he look so frighteningly happy?” Ichabod didn’t get a response. “Miss Mills! Please inform me of this gentleman’s identity so I can begin to fathom why he is on this rather ridiculous garment.”  
     “It’s Santa, y’know, Father Christmas or Saint Nick? It suits you.” Abbie bit her lip as she held back another laugh.  
     “ _This_ is your idea of Saint Nicholas?” Ichabod’s eyes widened and he took on an expression of horror.  
     “Granted, he’s been modified a little since your time.”  
     “It’s…” Ichabod trailed off. His mouth was moving but no sound was coming out.  
     “Oh, come on, Crane. The guy flies around the world in one night and gives out presents. The…that,” Abbie gestured to the sweater, “is all for the kids.”  
     “You mislead your children into believing that a ridiculous-looking Saint delivers gifts to them?”  
     “Well, not my kids.” Abbie smiled, avoiding looking at the sweater in fear that she’d start laughing again.  
     “You don’t have children.” Ichabod stopped focussing on the apparent blasphemy and looked up at Abbie instead.  
He began to wonder if she did have children. But if they weren’t at her home, where were they? And who was the father? Perhaps Luke Morales? He was the only man Ichabod had ever heard her speak of in a romantic sense.  
     “No, I don’t, that was the point. It was a joke, you remember what humour is?”  
     “Apparently, being buried for two hundred and fifty years diminishes one’s sense of humour.” Ichabod raised his eyebrows briefly and raised up the corners of his mouth, which, to Abbie, was an indication of him being sarcastic.  
     “Well we’ve certainly established that. Come downstairs with or without the sweater, your cocoa’s going cold.” Abbie turned on her heels and walked out. The second she closed the door, she burst into laughter.  
 _Oh god, Ichabod. You’re adorable._  
He was adorable like a six year old trying to understand Christmas, he was adorable like a bratty four year old who was too tired to do anything else. He was adorable like Ichabod Crane trying to get to grips with the twenty-first century.

Abbie was a little more than surprised when, two minutes later, Ichabod returned downstairs wearing the sweater.  
     “I have concluded, Miss Mills,” Ichabod smiled as he sat down next to her, “that I trust your judgement.”  
     “My judgement?” A grin was playing on Abbie’s lips as she raised her neat eyebrows.  
     “I believe the phrase was ‘fetching’.”  
     “Yeah well, looking ridiculous suits you.” She teased, turning her attention to finding the TV remote; she had something Ichabod needed to see.  
     “I could say the same to you.” Ichabod sniffed, feigning offence.  
     “Ah-ha!” Abbie exclaimed, triumphantly pulling the remote from the side of the sofa cushion.  
She mashed the power button until the screen jumped to life, the very familiar title screen was already playing out.  
Ichabod tilted his head to the side and peered at his companion curiously.  
‘ _I owe my life to George Bailey-’_  
     “What-” Ichabod began, but Abbie whacked him on the arm.  
     “Shut up, watch the movie.”  
They sat and watched it in silence for about half an hour before Abbie began to get tired.  
She’d watched the original version of the same movie every Christmas for as long as she could remember. The old, black and white movie that her parents apparently used to adore.  
So, no wonder then why she felt the strongest sense of contentment she’d felt in years as she felt herself slowly falling to sleep, watching ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ with Ichabod Crane on Christmas Eve.  
Ichabod dragged his eyes away from the screen and glanced over when he felt a pressure settle on his shoulder. He supressed a small smile when he was met with the peaceful, sleeping face of Leftenant Abigail Mills.  
     “Goodnight, Miss Mills.”  
It was odd, he didn’t feel out of place. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was at home. So, that’s why he didn’t dare move or disturb her. He just kept watching, until he eventually joined Abbie in unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was my Christmas present to Toni, who I don't think has an AO3 account.  
> Happy Christmas, m'dear!


End file.
